


Shifted Winds

by Origingirl



Series: A Flickering Sun [6]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: And boi do I mean the BIG sad, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff to Sad, Humor, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origingirl/pseuds/Origingirl
Summary: He didn't mean to say it. Truly, he didn't. Unfortunately, his greatest love is a stupid king sometimes.
Relationships: Focalor/Sinbad (Magi)
Series: A Flickering Sun [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1389592
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Release

**Author's Note:**

> I finally found the motivation to sit down and write after a millennia of nothing, haha.

Time was always of the essence, and Focalor shall be quick to learn that fact especially applies to the sea. 

Sinbad had to keep his motives on the down-low, of course. What he _had_ told his djinn was that there is suspicious behavior on a couple of islands closest to Sindria that needed immediate surveillance.

In _reality_ , Sinbad was looking for a shell.

Yes, a shell.

A shell so rare, shiny, and colorful that the sea creatures who produced them only did so every fifty years.

Since the night of the Winter Solstice Festival, Focalor took quickly to his new magenta and raven-feathered suit. He became completely enamored with it—for the first time in forever, he had a tangible possession of his own. Sinbad hasn’t forgotten the glow in his djinn’s eyes upon receiving the gift, and that spurred the King of Sindria onward to find this world’s greatest treasures in hopes of reigniting that look.

It was one of the few occurrences Focalor felt and looked full of happiness.

And so, Sinbad endured his djinn’s incessant whining the entire trip there.

“I just don’t understand why you’d have me materialized by your side for this. Shouldn’t I be prepared in my metal vessel in case, oh I don’t know… the trouble you’re scouting for decides to rear its head?”

“No need to worry.” Sinbad said, resting a reassuring hand on the wind djinn’s shoulder. “After all, you can use your powers on your own, can’t you?”

“Well, yes.” Focalor said, eyes out to the sea. “It’s just… you’re the one with good eyes, and you can control me better from the vessel. I wouldn’t want you to miss a critical hit and wind up injured as a result.”

Sinbad chuckled and then rolled his eyes. “Someone’s on edge.”

“You could get hurt, dummy.” Focalor said, turning his sharp gaze to his candidate. “Of course I’m on edge.”

“Awe.” Sinbad cooed and then placed a small kiss on his djinn’s bare shoulder. It left the faint taste of ocean air on his lips. “So sweet.”

“You might not think the same if this trip continues any longer.”

“I don’t get it? It’s windy out. You’re a wind djinn. None of this feels calming?”

“We’re here for business, not pleasure. So no.”

Sinbad shook his head fondly. Although, if he thought about it, and if this mission were real, it would be the first time Focalor’s outside in the open. He supposes his djinn had a point about being more vulnerable if he couldn’t equip right away.

Still, he’d wait this little wholehearted tantrum out. It will all be worth it soon enough.

Which turned out to, well, not-be-so-soon.

No mortal, no matter how much power they wielded, could control the merciful yet savage beast that is the sea. Sinbad has known this form a very young age of course and wasn’t terribly anxious at the sudden change of current that threw off their course, but Focalor is another story.

The wind djinn paced back and forth across the bridge so quickly that Sinbad could make out the slightest imprint of where he’d been walking on the wood.

“This is awful.” Focalor said as he saw his king approach him. “Now we’re miles off course, and if the invading force has ships and weaponry, this whole trip could result in a massacre.”

“Whoa, whoa, _massacre?_ Calm down Focalor, the sea’s a bit touchy today, that’s all.”

“ _Touchy?_ Ha.” The wind djinn remarked sarcastically, his pacing never faltering. “You’ve gotten into _touchy_ scenarios before Sin, and they’ve never ended well. Just admit it. We’re lost at sea!”

Ever the smug bastard, Sinbad folded his arms across his chest and quirked a brow. “You mean to tell me that you think the man who established trade routes throughout the world, united the seven seas, and built a kingdom on an island in the middle of the ocean… is lost. At sea?”

 _That_ made Focalor halt in his tracks and observe his king’s words. And then he realized at least a _very, very small_ fraction of his worrying had been misplaced. Blush dotted the wind djinn’s ears and nose at this realization.

“I—you. Well, ok. Fine. We’re not _lost_ at sea, but Sin, we’ll waste the whole day at this rate. All your efforts to flush out that suspect behavior will have been for naught.”

Sinbad stepped fully onto the bridge and walked over to stand directly in front of Focalor, a small, warm smile adorning his features. “Surely you know any time out at sea is never a waste, especially if I get to spend it with one of the most marvelous beings in the world.”

 _Ridiculous_ , Focalor thought. 

Yes, his candidate is absolutely, completely ridiculous and yet he _still_ wants to kiss that ridiculous smile off his ridiculous face.

But the softness of his king’s lips were never a ridiculous thing, and Focalor could bask in them forever.

Sinbad smiled into the kiss, too. _Completely, utterly ridiculous._

“Come inside with me?” Sinbad whispered against his djinn’s lips when they broke away. “I have some incredibly expensive, spicy wine and chocolates waiting for us.”

Focalor rested his head in the crook of his king’s shoulder, releasing a small sigh as he did so. “Ok.” His voice came low and steady, a large contrast to his behavior moments prior. “Ok. But after that, I go back into my vessel in case you need backup.”

“I suppose that’s a reasonable proposition.” Sinbad said before taking both his djinn’s hands in his. “Shall we?”

The cabin lights offered subtle yellow light that turned orange against the darker wooden boards of the ship. Sinbad walked down the short stairway and led Focalor to his onboard chambers. 

Initially, with this particular ship’s construction, the Kind of Sindria opted for a simple set up. It would feel nostalgic seeing how he spent the majority of his life living on the ocean. However, the shipbuilders insisted their king had generous accommodations. He told Focalor as much.

“And you deserve every silken sheet, my king.” Focalor said, placing a small kiss on Sinbad’s cheek once they got comfortable. “A nice place to rest after all you’ve done for the world.”

“Well _yes_. A certain degree of _separation_ comes with my title. Though, honestly? I wish there wasn’t any at all. I commanded my crew just fine back in the day sleeping in the exact same accommodations.”

“Indeed you did.” Focalor said. He sat back supporting himself with his arms behind him before collapsing into and tangling himself up in all the plush comforters and pillows and blankets, stretching as he did so. “But this is nice, too.”

Sinbad laughed and joined his djinn. “It’s even nicer with company.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Focalor turned around to press a light kiss to the monarch’s lips. “ _Much_ nicer.”

Sadly, they couldn’t have too much wine just yet if Sinbad were to successfully accomplish the _real_ mission. He couldn’t search for shells with fuzzy eyes. He’d probably fall over and get swept away by the tides.

When it came time to dock, the sun had just begun its descent to the horizon of the world, and Sinbad found it perfect that their little agreement worked out. With Focalor in his vessel, he wouldn’t even need to come up with an excuse for them to root around on a coral reef in search of shells. 

The sun was midway through its nightly journey when the King of Sindria found what he’d come all this way for. And the lighting was just right to make the shell’s colors shine their brightest.

With his pants and sleeves rolled up and his feet in the water, he pulled and hoisted up a shell only a tad smaller than his head. It was swirled but had no clumps of sand stuck deep inside it, which is promising. It means the shell hasn’t been sitting here for too long. Sinbad washed it out a bit before taking it back to the ship to be sure, though.

A little polish with the serum he brought with him and it was ready.

By the time the sun was about to get swallowed up by the horizon, Sinbad had everything prepared. A portable couch and table had been moved to the deck along with the rest of the wine, chocolates, and some tapas. A few blankets and two or three pillows had been laid out, too.

“Thanks again for doing this.” Sinbad had greeted the ship’s captain when he got on after he’d found the shell. “It means a lot.”

“Anything for our king.” The captain had replied. “Everything’s ready. We’ll chart a course back to Sindria.”

“Excellent.”

And Sinbad could only think to brace for the backlash he was sure to get from his djinn upon the revealing of the truth.

Of course, he’d let Focalor vent to him about how stupid he was acting. It’d all be worth it.

“So. You’re telling me my near-panic attack was for nothing?” Focalor said, sitting the furthest away he could from his king on the couch in resentment.

“I _did_ tell you there was nothing to worry about, to be fair.”

“No.” Focalor turned his head to the side. _“Unacceptable.”_

“Wh—oh, come on Focalor. Don’t you want to know the _real reason_ I brought you out here?”

“Mm. _I don’t think I do_.” The wind djinn said, his posture unmovable.

Ok, Sinbad may have screwed the pooch a little too much this time, but surely Focalor knew they weren’t in any real danger the whole time? Even if his fake mission were the reality, Sinbad’s fought off worse foes than thieving island squatters.

However, from the look on Focalor’s face, Sinbad’s critical miscalculation had been assuming anything in the first place. Who knew a rambunctious, semi-chaotic wind djinn wouldn’t tolerate a teensy cover story.

Hopefully, he can salvage this evening from plummeting.

“Foca _lor_.” Sinbad tried in his softest, most no-nonsense voice. “I really, _really_ think you’ll want to see what I have in this satchel.”

“And why is that?” The wind djinn coldly answered, still unwilling to forgive his king just yet.

“Because it’s for _you.”_

As if Sinbad had said the magic words, his djinn’s eyes shot over to him with a heightened curiosity, yet Focalor still seemed little closed off. “For me?”

“Yes.” Sinbad said, using Focalor’s current moment of uncertainty to scooch closer. “For you.”

The wind djinn opened his mouth only to shut it again, whatever rebuttal he had dying on his tongue. He still eyed the red satchel warily. “What is it?”

“If you want to know, you’ll have to _close your eyes_ first.” Sinbad said, lifting the satchel onto his lap. Though, he added a pleading look to his request when his djinn’s shoulders tensed up at it. “Please? I swear to you this isn’t a prank.”

“I have a hard time believing that for some reason.”

“Please?” Sinbad pleaded once more. _“Please.”_

Focalor eyed his king up and down suspiciously. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t still ticked off at Sinbad’s cover-up just to get whatever it was that’s in this satchel… but, curiosity had always been a weak spot for him, even in his mortal life in the previous world.

With a sigh of defeat, Focalor slouched and settled on the couch with an aura of indifference.

“ _Ok_ , Sin. _Show me.”_

“Thank you.” The monarch gave a genuine smile and then proceeded with his plan.

He set the satchel on his lap and then untangled Focalor’s hands from their crossed position on his chest. The wind djinn quirked a brow. 

“Ok?” Focalor drew out the “o” vowel as he said so. “What’s this?”

“I need you to hear me out before I give you this.”

A small amused chuckle left the djinn’s throat, his mind setting aside his current unruly mood in favor of seeing what his king had in store for him. After all, he could never stay mad at his candidate for long. “Alright. What is it?”

Sinbad took a breath before he began. 

“The night I gave you that suit… I’ve never seen you happier. Maybe the only other time was, well, our first kiss. But never since have I seen your eyes light up as bright—until I gave you something you could call yours. I thought about it some more and, well, you haven’t had anything to call yours in a long, long time, have you?”

Focalor hung onto every word, recalling himself how he had felt the night of the Winter Solstice Festival. 

When his king gave that suit to him, it wasn’t the item itself so much as the symbolism behind gift-giving and receiving. That suit is now his, and it truly has been eons since the djinn felt pride in something material and temporal.

“Yes.” Focalor murmured. “I’m still… grateful. I’m not sure how to put it. It made me feel… human, I think. And that was a feeling that, when I felt it, I was frightened by it at first.” He said, shoulders tensing up at the memories. “My last human emotions before everything went dark were ones of sorrow, hatred, a longing for peace that I could never again have in a human way. But then… that night, I felt—even just for a few seconds—my lost humanity.”

“You—truly?” Sinbad spoke with awe in his voice. He knew Focalor felt happy from receiving a gift, but he had no idea it ran so deep. He had no idea a small act like that triggered something his djinn previously thought was lost to a dead world.

“I hope—I mean, I didn’t wish to evoke anything bad by it.”

“And you didn’t.” Focalor said, giving his king a soft smile. “It felt incredible.”

“Ok—ok, good. You scared me for a moment.”

“Ah. Well, as you say to me, no need to worry.”

“Yeah. Makes me feel better about tonight.” Sinbad said, and then reached for the satchel’s ties. “Because this is something special, both in general and to me on a personal level.” He explained, pulling back ropes and cloth until he could lift up the shell without trouble.

“Oh? Well, now I’m even more curious.”

“Yes. It… it was something my father gave to my mother on their wedding night.”

The atmosphere seemed to drop to a somber temperature right then, even though the wind remained the same cool sea breeze. Focalor sat stiller than a billion-year-old-mountain. If he knew one thing for certain about his king, it was that his earliest past is something he kept to himself—locked away from everyone in the grayest part of his soul.

Whatever was in this satchel… Focalor had no idea what it was, but something this sentimental—gods. His king may trust him more than the wind djinn previously anticipated. Sharing pleasures of the body was one thing. Anyone could get together and fuck. There were no consequences, only mutual benefits. Secrets of the mind and past, if revealed to the wrong person… you may as well have killed yourself the moment you decide to open your mouth.

“You could probably guess that my family didn’t have much to work with, but my father knew all the fruitful areas of the sea when it came to food as well as novelties.” Sinbad explained, and then began pulling out the satchel’s contents. And it was something Focalor wasn’t expecting by a long shot but found it suited his king well.

“The name of this shell is magnum splendorous. No one’s sure how the shell got its name, but some say it means ‘grand brilliance’.” Sinbad said, revealing the large, swirled, shining shell. “They don’t grow as small as rings, but my mother didn’t care about that. She said any woman with a mere ring would never know love like my father had for her. They’d never know the love of a man who traversed the ocean to find a treasure hand-crafted by nature herself. A treasure as rare, bright, and unique as their love.”

The shell glinted softly under the light of the now fully risen moon, and Focalor could make out each and every little pathway plankton had carved upon its surface during its time underwater. It had so much charm because of it, and the wind djinn has never been mesmerized by a shell so much. 

And then Focalor took his king’s words and paired the story with the shell’s image. ‘Rare, bright, and unique as their love,’ Sinbad had said. 

“I—” Focalor tried to formulate words, but his mind betrayed him and he was left to take in the treasure in his king’s hands.

“I assume your lack of words means you like it.” The monarch let out a small laugh, his smile illuminated by the reflecting shine of the shell. 

It made him look even more of a treasure to the world than what he held in his hands, Focalor thought.

“Good.” Sinbad traced the shell with a fingertip. “That suit… well, I gave it to you in a spur of the moment because you liked it so much. I wanted you to feel that way again—this time with a purposeful gift. Something special from me to you.” He said.

And then, he held out the shell for his djinn to take, and Focalor only sat there stupidly not knowing what to do with all this for a few seconds before accepting it.

The weight and texture were comforting, and somehow, even though it had nothing living in it, the shell felt warm against his ethereal blue skin. Upon closer inspection, he could see himself on the shell’s surface even amongst the marks made by microscopic ocean creatures.

“So. What do you think? I wish I could have found a bigger one. They grow to massive lengths, y’know.”

“I—Sin.” Focalor still couldn’t bring himself to find the words. The suit was lovely, but this? “…Are you sure?”

“This is for you. So… yes?”

“No, that’s not it.” Focalor looked up from the shell to meet his king’s gaze. “You—don’t you realize what you’ve told me?”

The monarch could only think to chuckle in a confused manner at that. He really didn’t see what the big deal was.

“Um… that I wanted to give you a meaningful gift?”

“No, no. My gods, Sin. You never talk about your past the way you just did to me. I—and now? All of a sudden?”

“Well, the story was relevant to—”

“Are you sure you’d trust me with this part of yourself?” Focalor said, eyes never leaving his kings.

He leaned in close and touched their foreheads together. Sinbad’s initial surprised look wore off and he closed his eyes. What a silly question.

“Focalor. You know how much you mean to me.” 

And it wasn’t a question, the wind djinn realized. It was a statement because of course, Focalor knew. Of course he does. But _this_ much? _So_ much? No, he did not.

A pang of self-resentment he was unfamiliar with wracked his heart. _He was angry?_ Sinbad is so trusting of a being who had forgotten how fragile human trust and love and laughter is. 

“Something so symbolic… and you—I’m not even human, Sin.”

And as it’s just like him, the monarch smirked in a manner that told Focalor he knew more than a centuries-old being does.

“I don’t care.” He said, and then pushed a bruising kiss onto Focalor’s lips, pressing his hand against his feathered neck to pull him closer.

Focalor’s grip faltered and he nearly dropped the shell his king spent the whole day trying to find.

Steadying the shell in his lap, he kissed back as much as he could, but there was a strong sense of _something_ behind Sinbad's lips that Focalor felt he couldn’t hope to rival tonight. The wind djinn’s mind wandered within the warmth of this moment and realized how they must have looked right now, and then Focalor shuddered at that realization—how they must look as united and compassionate as Sinbad’s parents when his father gifted the shell to his mother.

To think he’d be in that same position with his king right now—the man he swore loyalty to and swore to protect and was oh so so amazing and beautiful in body and soul—it was too much. This gift was too much. This kiss held something different and Focalor felt afraid—not for himself, but for his king.

Sinbad, on the other hand, showed no such fear when he broke away to place the shell on the table across from them and then resumed their kiss with ten times the amount of passion as before, and Focalor let himself get swept away, pushed back, and splayed out on the couch cushions.

“I don’t care.” Sinbad repeated just a few inches above him, the moonlight silhouetting his form in a way that made him seem just as immortal as the djinn beneath him. “I forge the reality of my own will with my own two hands, and if I want a djinn as my lover, I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen—I’ll do whatever I can to make you stay.”

And then, everything seemed to fall.

“Wh—stay?”

“Since the bathhouse and the festival, I’ve been thinking so much about you and me and the future—about our bond and how it’s truly nothing more than a potently felt contract that you can break anytime you wish it.”

A tremor of horrific emotions wracked Focalor’s entire being at that. “How can you—”

“I’m half-fallen. You know that. I know that. It’s only a matter of time. We both know that.”

“Sin—”

“I know that. And I know how on some level, you pity me as much as you’re fond of me. And I hate that.” Sinbad’s hands crinkled the blankets beneath his djinn in a fit of every nasty emotion welling up inside him.

“I hate it. And so I’ll do whatever I can to show you I can and will pull through for you—for us.” He said.

With all the sorrow in his voice, the monarch spilled no tears. All his attention was on his djinn beneath him. All his determination and steeled will were at the mercy of Focalor. He was laying himself bare as much as he could without entirely breaking, and Focalor hated he felt he had to do so.

“The shell. It was the symbol of love between my parents, but also one of a strong union to never abandon one another, to always pull through. With this shell, I swear I’ll do that. I want this to end. I want to be my purest self for you. I want—”

“Stop.” Focalor’s voice broke through his king’s increasingly loud declaration. In a moment of urgency, he roped his hands around Sinbad’s neck and pulled him down to lay on his chest. “Stop.” He repeated, but this time quieter.

“I can’t.” Sinbad chuckled sadly. “You’ll have to put up with that a little longer, I’m afraid.”

“And you’ll have to realize sooner or later that just as you don’t care how I'm not human, I don’t care that you're cursed.”

The monarch lifted his head to look at his djinn at that. The expression he was met with bordered on complete despair—for him.

“I’ll say it as many times as I need to, like I did in the bathhouse, and like I did at the festival. I swore to protect you, Sin, and if that means saving you from yourself, I will.” He said, moving a hand to caress the side of his king’s face.

“And how **_dare_** you!” His tone changed quickly along with his look of despair into one of pure heartache. “How dare you speak of **_us_** as a contract! You honestly think I view it the same way?! You _dare_ assume I feel nothing but love for you? I’ve never pitied you! Not even when we first met!”

Focalor had _just about enough_ of dancing around the endgame when Sinbad told him exactly how _his djinn must **pity** him_. He couldn’t be more wrong, and there were no other words to express that than the ones just spoken. He had to get it through that thick skull somehow… but now?

“That… you _hurt_ me, Sin.” Focalor’s fire died out as quickly as it came. “Think and feel about yourself however you want, but don’t you _ever_ assume how others feel about you— _especially_ me.”

Hot liquid seeped out of his eyes and began slow paths down the contours of his cheeks. He’d only ever cried once—in the bathhouse. It still felt so foreign to him.

“Maybe that fallen magi is right. You’re _**incredibly** stupid_ sometimes.”

Sinbad felt like he was experiencing something surreal—not entirely real, but certainly not make-believe either, when tears streaked down Focalor’s face. 

And then the monarch found this was the first time he took that comment Judal always made to heart, because it was coming from someone—the only one—he loves.


	2. Accept

He finally finds out he can cry and, of course, it can’t be tears of joy, can it?

Focalor couldn’t escape his king’s eyes. He knew as much and turned to face him, but when he did, the wind djinn found he wanted to slap that confused, frustrated expression right off. How could Sin, after everything, arrive at such an _awful assumption_? Well, Focalor is sure his curse has a lot to do with it. Still… _hadn’t he…_

“Haven’t I _proved_ as much to you! That I’ll be with you _always?_ What _more_ do I need to _do or say,_ Sin?” At this point, Focalor is less concerned with stopping the flow of tears and more concerned with doing whatever he can to get it through his king’s head that he’ll never, ever leave.

“Foca—”

“No! _Listen_ to yourself!” Focalor moved to grasp at his king’s shoulders. “You want to be _‘pure’_ for me? When have I _ever_ alluded to the fact that I want that from you—that I want _anything else_ from you but… but _you?”_

Sinbad’s hug caught him off guard, sending them both back onto the couch. Despite his hurt feelings, Focalor returned the embrace. He wasn’t _angry_ at his king—just frustrated.

 _“Please._ What can I do?” The wind djinn’s voice came out in soft sobs next to Sinbad’s ear, and the monarch hated that he’s driven his djinn to plead with him.

“You’re right.” That is all Sinbad could think to say. His hug tightened as if Focalor would be swept away at any moment just like the element he welded.

“You’re right. I—I’m not sure… where… I’ve lost so many good things—good people in my lifetime, y’know?”

Focalor nuzzled into the side of his king’s neck. 

A beat.

And then— 

“I know.” Came the quiet response.

“So you see, I—if there’s any reason you think you’d—”

_“There isn’t.”_

“But—”

“Trust me?” Focalor asked, and held onto his king just as tight. “Please.”

Sinbad has been trusting Focalor with his life for a while now, so of course, he trusts his djinn, but for some reason he can’t quite name, he doesn’t believe this matter is about his trust in _Focalor._

“Of course. Of course, I trust you. You know that.”

Focalor pulled back just enough to meet his king’s gaze, and Sinbad wished he could just be a better person for his djinn—a person worthy of the title of king's candidate. He wished he had the secret to banish those tears forever from Focalor’s face.

Sinbad moved a hand up to brush his fingers along the lines of feathers beneath his eyes. They were soaked with saltwater.

“I just—I think I’ve realized that you make me… well, _better._ And if you were to leave, like so many others in my life have…” Sinbad paused, debating whether or not he should say these next words. But he wants to be as honest with Focalor as his djinn is to him. “If you were to leave my side… I think I’d _**fall.”**_

He watched Focalor’s eyes go wide with a plethora of emotions—too many for him to name. He smiled down at his djinn. He didn’t know what else to do.

“And so… I want to be that person for you. I want to be the best king I can be for you because I’m incapable of doing that for myself alone anymore.”

Focalor had probably not intended for his eyes to look pitiful, but that’s what Sinbad sees, and he _hates_ it because he knows deep down Focalor’s words are true. He’s never pitied the human man situated atop him—not once.

“I’m sorry,” Sinbad says, and he meant it. Perhaps there was a time when he could have walked down a different path—one that would make him want to get better for himself and for the sake of his kingdom.

The empty smile slipped off his face as quickly as it came.

Now, he’s reduced to _this_ —this _ugly, terrifying, corupt_ thing. He’s reduced to needing the energy and love and affirmations of another person just to _keep him afloat in his own mind._

_Weak, helpless, pathetic._

Focalor could see those familiar, dark clouds swirling about in his king’s eyes, and wasn’t sure if he could salvage this situation. But damn it all if he wouldn’t try.

The wind djinn moved to sit up so Sinbad would be situated in his lap. Those eyes are still darkened, and all Focalor could think to do is pepper his face with small, soft kisses—one to the forehead, to his king’s marvelous mind, and two just beneath his king’s eyes that see the world in a bright, redeemable light. A lingering one to Sin’s lips because Focalor loves how warm they are even in the prickly night air out at sea.

He pressed their foreheads together and wrapped his arms around his king’s waist.

Focalor took a moment to ponder Sinbad’s words. He could choose to be furious with his king—enraged at the fact that Sinbad has the strength to help thousands around the world, but not the kind required to help himself. He could blow up in his king’s face about how hurt he still is from Sinbad talking about what they have as a _mere contract._ Oh, he _certainly could._

“I love you,” is what Focalor decided to say instead. “I hope that’s enough.”

Because of their close proximity, Focalor felt more than heard Sinbad’s breath hitch in his chest.

His king has never been a cryer—not even in situations where he’s lost those closest to him over the years. He’s only ever faced the world with a knowing smile as if he was privy to something far more valuable than the lessons death had to teach him.

No, Sinbad never really cried. Not the way he’s crying now. Not in the way that makes your eyebrows knot together in a scrunch and a ridiculous amount of water leave your body and awful sounds to burst from your throat.

And all Focalor could do is hold him until it was over.

“I _**hate**_ it,” Sinbad’s voice came out in a shakey whisper next to his djinn’s ear.

The monarch could barely fathom it himself—how he’s driven his own mind to such lengths of depravity. So much so that it’s forced Focalor to say such a daft thing because of course, of course, his love is enough. It _should_ be enough. Why did he have to be this way?

“I hate— _please_ —don’t _ever_ think it isn’t enough or that I don’t love you back. It’s _more_ than enough. It always will be— _you’ll_ always... ” As much as he needs to say how much Focalor means to him, his sobs have effectively silenced him.

Focalor didn’t say anything for a while after that, which worried him greatly. When one is silent, it means you can’t discern what they’re thinking, and Sinbad could _only imagine_ what Focalor thinks of his king now—broken down and beaten up and he has no one but himself to blame.

He felt a hand come to rest at the back of his neck and Focalor move to place a kiss on his forehead, and then rest his chin atop his king’s head.

“I love you,” Focalor repeated the words.

He’ll say it as many times as he needs to for Sinbad to believe deep, deep down that _yes_ , he is _loved_ by his djinn and his generals and his citizens and that they’re all here for him as much as he’s been for them.

“I love you, Sin. You’re my Sun, and I’ll blow away all the dark clouds preventing you from shining your brightest.”

He felt Sinbad’s hands tighten around him at those words. And then, “You _shouldn’t have_ to.”

“I _want_ to.” Focalor sighed before pressing another kiss to his king’s head. “It’s as I’ve told you time and time again: I swore to protect you—from enemies abroad, from the _world_ … from yourself.”

Sinbad emitted a small, sad chuckle before moving to face his djinn. Focalor felt tears of his own want to well up again at the sight of his king. Just weeks ago, he shined brilliantly at the Winter Solstice Festival dancing, laughing, and enjoying his life. Now, his eyes were lifeless and dull, his cheeks stained and wet, his mouth harboring the coldest, cheapest imitation of a smile. Focalor can’t remember the last time he felt genuinely afraid of something—anything. But seeing Sin this way in the darkened atmosphere of night… his king looked as if—

“How long?” Sinbad’s fatigued, cracked voice spoke out, that ghostly smile ever-present still. He shook his head. “How long can you do that before I eventually fall?”

And what could Focalor say to that? Just as it was a miracle that brought Sinbad into this world, it will take one just as potent to banish his curse. And the wind djinn hadn’t the slightest clue of where to begin. But, as he’s been telling his king—

“I love you,” Focalor said, now with a worried desperation in his tone. He grasped his king’s shoulders and shook him lightly as if to stir him from a nightmare. “I’ll do it for as long as it takes. As long as it takes for you to see yourself through my eyes—to _love yourself_ the way I do.”

Focalor moved a hand to brush some violate hair out of the way to plant a gentle kiss on his king’s lips. At this point, words of affirmation and physical reassurment are all Focalor is capable of doing. Because he couldn’t take away Sinbad’s curse. He couldn’t restore those golden eyes to their full brilliance they once held many years ago. He can’t be the singular force to forever banish all the ailments Sinbad has accumulated throughout his lifetime.

For all the immense power he has as an immortal djinn, he’s not powerful enough to help the one being in this world who loves him.

He’s never felt smaller in both his immortal and mortal life than he does right now.

_Nothing._

He can’t do _anything—_

—except _love_ his king until _the end._

But somehow, deep down in his gut, Focalor isn’t sure if that will be _enough,_ even if Sinbad assures him it is.

Looking at his king the way he is now, and thinking about all the things he’s said in these past moments out at sea… Focalor can’t help but arrive at a horrifically frightening notion.

Does he—does Sinbad… _want_ to be saved?

The wind djinn shoved those thoughts to the recesses of his mind. _Not now._ Those ideas aren’t what Sinbad needs right now. Well, Focalor isn’t sure _what_ his king needs, but it’s certainly not a discussion about _that._

It didn’t take much force for Focalor to bring Sinbad back into a warm embrace against the cold, ocean air. He felt goosebumps arise on his king’s tanned skin and knew it was getting late and that they should move beneath the boat.

“For as long as it takes,” Focalor reiterated. “Besides, I’m immortal. That’s no time at all for me, Sin.”

As luck would have it, it seems his king will always fall victim to humorous remarks. He felt Sinbad’s shoulders shake with a light chuckle, and then he tightened his embrace.

“Good to know I’m not burdening you in that way, at least.” Sinbad’s raspy voice replied, scratched, and tired from all the tears.

Focalor almost breathed a physical sigh of relief at Sinbad’s slight mood alteration. It should be enough to get in inside and to bed. Sleep is what he needs the most in this moment, the wind djinn reasoned.

“Well,” Focalor pushed back to look at his king. “I may not be around for much longer out in _this_ weather. C’mon. Let’s get inside. We still have half a bottle of wine to finish.”

He watched as his king's eyes perked up a bit at the mention of the incredibly expensive imported sangria waiting below the deck.

“That should warm us both up.” Sinbad agreed and then moved to stand. However, no sooner did he have both feet on the ground than when his knees gave out.

Focalor was there to catch him with inhuman speed.

Sinbad felt like an old hey-stuffed doll that girl toddlers played with—having to have one arm sling over his djinn’s shoulder while Focalor led him down the stairs and to his chambers. At least he didn’t have to fully carry him. His pride had been wounded enough for one night.

“Wait—the shell. I want—” Sinbad was about to reach down for it, but Focalor pulled him towards the stairs.

“It will still be here in the morning. We’ll fetch it then—together.”

Sinbad begrudgingly went with Focalor, unable to stop thinking about how they’ve spent all day trying to find it only for it to be left out on a couch.

However, with each step towards his chambers, he felt fatigue inching ever closer, and thought it best to obey his djinn.

“Together, then.”

The open door to his chambers brought with it a calming amber light and the sweet aroma of incense. Sinbad felt his shoulders instantly relax and found himself gaining a smidge of strength from the smell of lavender and cardamom alone. 

For once, he’s grateful for the grandiose, fine silk sheets and puffy mattress to lay down upon. He threw himself back with a sigh, stretched, and closed his eyes.

“Can I get you anything? Besides a generous serving of wine, of course.” He heard his djinn’s bemused voice come from the side of the bed, followed by a pouring sound.

Sinbad sat upright with his back against the headboard and pillows. He shook his head slowly. “Actually. I think I’ll pass. I just—I’m really, really tired. Don’t think I need the wine.”

Focalor’s expression morphed into one of mock-surprise. He put a feather-laced hand to his chest and pretend to gawk. _“My_ king? _Denying_ a glass of _wine?_ Are you _sure_ you’re the King of Sindria, ruler of the Seven Seas?”

 _“Ha._ I surprise myself.” Sinbad laughed along.

Focalor turned to put the wine away before coming to sit at the foot of the bed. He didn’t do or say anything after that. He just… sat there—those gorgeous ethereal features lit by the soft orange candlelight.

Just as before, Sinbad didn’t like that he couldn’t know what his djinn is thinking right now. Maybe it’s because he’ll always need validation from an outside source. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want Focalor just… _sitting away_ from him with something obviously on his mind.

“Hey,” Sinbad said, and watched Foclaor snap his head up and look in his direction as if he’d just interrupted a deep train of thought. He’ll bet he did, especially after the conversation they’d just had.

But Sinbad’s too tired to talk about it—much less talk in general.

He leaned back on the pillows and opened his arms wide.

It took a second too long than Sinbad would have liked, but Focalor soon enough got the message and climbed over to lay in his king’s arms.

Usually, Focalor always had a surreal coolness to his skin, but tonight, he felt… well, he felt like any other normal warm-blooded human felt. Sinbad snuggled downward so they could slot together as perfectly as they could.

“Stay with me?” Sinbad couldn’t stop the question from being asked. Somehow, he still thinks Focalor will leave him, be it just for tonight and go back in his vessel or—or forever.

He heard Focalor laugh and then watched as his djinn moved up to place a small kiss on his nose, then beneath both eyes, then on his forehead, and then to his lips.

Those ochre eyes were just about as tired as his own, and Sinbad couldn’t fault him for it. He understands. He understands what Focalor is going through because he picked _him_ of _all people_ to be his king’s candidate.

And yet… and yet he looks at him with so much _trust and admiration and love_ that Sinbad can only _hate and blame himself_ for not believing his djinn’s next words when he speaks them.

 _“Always, Sin._ You’ll _always_ have me—as your djinn, your partner, your love— _always.”_

Focalor sees it too—the doubt remaining in his king’s fatigued eyes. But he knows he can’t help Sinbad in the way he needs. He can’t take away the curse.

And damn it all, Focalor will remain by Sinbad’s side _regardless._

“Remember what you told me? All you need is _me_ to be content. Well. _Here I am.”_ Focalor pressed another small kiss to his king’s nose. _“Always.”_

Sinbad smiled. “I _did_ say that, didn’t I?”

“You did. It’s unbecoming of a king to be unfaithful to his word.”

“Then… I’ll have to be ok, huh? Because you’re here.”

“I am.” Focalor smiled as well. Even if Sinbad doubted his own words now, the wind djinn hopes that maybe, just maybe, if he says it enough, this, too, will come true—just as he completed his goal of founding his own country. “I am, and you will. You _will.”_

“Can’t ignore the wise words of my confidant djinn, can I?”

Focalor huffed a laugh and moved them both so he was lying atop his king on the bed. “No. You can’t.”

“Alright then,” Sinbad said, and then brought both his arms to rest on his djinn’s back. He began carding his fingers through Focalor’s elegant raven-blue feathers. “I wont.”

Focalor felt sleep edging one step closer with each stroke his king gave to his feathery hair. There’s still so much he wants to talk to Sinbad about—so much he wants to assure him of.

It won’t be today, or tomorrow, or even a year from now perhaps.

But one day, Focalor hopes his king—his _brilliant Sun_ —could say that and _mean_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy I'm alive! Got a job, and oooohhhh boi, has it been keeping me busy. Hope you enjoyed this little one-off. More Focasin to come! (They're my comfort OTP lol)

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants a visual for the shell here, google Polished Mexican Troca Shell.


End file.
